


Never Use A Borrowed Voice

by i_know_its_0ver



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, M/M, Outing, POV Outsider, Self-Identity, grownup feelings, grownup problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_know_its_0ver/pseuds/i_know_its_0ver
Summary: Dan Sherry came to Woodhill College to teach English and shape young minds. Somehow he's fucking it all up.A re-telling of the events of Handsome Devil from the POV of Dan Sherry.





	Never Use A Borrowed Voice

**Author's Note:**

> So of course, of all the characters in this movie, I somehow identify most with the damn teacher. Ack, I’m so old. I didn’t realize just HOW MANY feelings I had about Mr Sherry until I started writing this. Spoiler alert: it’s a fucking lot. 
> 
> This story was inspired by [Four Epilogues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800158/chapters/26616666) by [imperfectcircle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle), a fantastic fix-it fic with four alternate movie endings from different POVs. The Mr Sherry chapter was a revelation, and after weeks of stewing on it I finally said fuck it and wrote the story that probably no one in the world is waiting for. Conor and Ned’s relationship is present, as much as Mr Sherry is aware of it. And yes, I’ve added my own fix-it ending. 
> 
> This is the first thing I’ve written for public consumption in yeeeeears, and it makes me really nervous to put myself out there again, especially as this feels like the most personal story I've ever written. It's my magnum opus to adulthood and adult problems. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> *oh, and some of the dialogue is taken from the movie, but it should be fairly obvious. Not trying to take credit for words I didn't write. 
> 
> **this is definitely a gen-themed fic, but I should warn for some cursing. Though that should have been obvious from the summary and this note...

Dan Sherry has realistic expectations when he accepts the job teaching English Literature and Composition at Woodhill College. At least he thinks he does. 

He remembers the teachers he had at that age, the boring middle aged men with their minds more on their imminent retirements and their cushy pensions than on moulding young minds. He remembers the glassy eyed stares of the boys packed like bored cattle around him and thinks _I can at least do better than that_. He has no illusions of grandeur, no need to be some Robin Williams styled romantic hero of teenage academia. He just wants his class to not be the one most dreaded by his students. It’s a modest goal. 

But while Dan remembers what it was like to be a teenager (it wasn’t _that_ long ago), that won’t make it any easier to get through to this pack of delinquents. That may be an unkind assessment, but he’s read their files, front to back, and has a good idea what he’s in for. Headmaster Curly had thought it strange when his newest teacher had requested the student’s full files from the front office. But Dan knows that knowledge is power, and he’ll need all the ammunition he can get against these boys. “Know your enemy,” and all that. 

The first text he’s picked for the class is _Lord of the Flies_ , and he takes a lesson from Golding: if you want to be a Ralph and not a Piggy you have to show the other boys who is boss. 

Aaron Finnegan makes it easy for him by announcing himself as a classless imbecile before Dan has even had a chance to introduce himself to his students. He makes that noise, that irritating little _eeeRRRrrrrr_ , a sound so full of insinuation that Dan immediately recognizes its meaning. Back in his day the boys in Dan’s class had stuck with the tried and true classic, the snidely muttered _fag_. Not strong on imagination, those boys. Maybe that’s the difference between public and private school. 

“Aaron Finnegan, did you make that absurd noise?” Dan demands. They all fall silent, but he’s not nearly done.

“Age 16, birthday June, shoe size eight and a half, fan of Formula 1 car racing, allergic to milk,” Dan recites, knowing he has immediately captured the attention of the whole class. They aren’t expecting it, this targeted attack. Surely they’re used to elderly professors who can’t even be bothered to memorize their first names, nevermind their life histories. His knowledge makes him _dangerous_ and they can all sense it. There are few things teenage boys fear more than embarrassment in front of their peers and Dan is not above stooping to their level. 

“Congratulation, Mr. Finnegan, you are today’s winner of the Witless Tool Competition. BE GONE,” he announces with finality, flinging Aaron Finnegan’s backpack into the hallway along with all his students’ expectations for a dull, boring school year. When he looks around he’s pretty sure he’s made the impression he hoped for, at least with most of them.

Good.

*****

Dan has done his thorough research on each and every pupil in his class, and that includes Ned Roche. His file doesn’t say it in so many words, but there are academic evaluations full of words like “creative” and “imaginative” alongside medical reports of minor injuries and several disciplinary demerits for fighting. What they’re all trying so carefully not to say is that Ned is _different_ , in the way that the red-meat-eating, salt-of-the-earth men at this school don’t know what to do with.

Dan notices in the very first class how the other boys treat Ned, how that infernal, insinuating sound is aimed in his direction. It’s all painfully familiar for Dan. No matter how hard he had tried to hide that part of himself, both then and now, teenage boys seem to have a keen sense for those who are _different_ , the way lions can instinctively sense the weakest gazelle in the herd. Easy prey.

Ned certainly doesn’t make it easy on himself, not just with his dyed hair and punk-inspired fashion sense, but with his whole attitude of cynical detachment. Like he’s above it all. In a way, Dan can admire that attitude. You can’t let the bullies see how much they hurt you; sometimes that’s the only small victory you can claim. But what Dan has learned firsthand, what Ned is still finding out, is that the attitude he wears as armor only makes him a shinier target. 

Ned stays on his mind as Dan is wandering the halls of the dormitories that evening. He’s been tasked with dropping off a few books for a new student, a late transfer. He’s been given only a room number, not even a name. It’s not really his job to play errand boy, but it can’t hurt to earn a few brownie points with the headmaster this early on in the year. 

He finds the room he’s looking for, and, unusual during this social time of the evening before bedcall, the door is closed.

He knocks briskly and is surprised to be met with a surly “Go away, thank you,” from the other side. It’s not what he’s expecting, and he’s already got his hand on the knob, turning and pushing open the door before it even registers. He nearly slams into Ned Roche, who is holding a guitar in front of himself protectively, as if he expects an attack. 

“Eh, sorry...sir, I thought you were a pupil,” Ned says, settling back down on his bed. But Dan’s attention is busy darting around the room, absorbing information. It tells him far more than Ned’s carefully worded files could. 

“What’s with the Berlin Wall?” Dan asks, pointing to the barricade constructed out of dressers, suitcases, books, and various odds and ends, piled high between the two single beds. 

“It’s a matter of necessity,” Ned tells him, matter of fact. 

Dan continues to look around the room, taking it all in. The walls on Ned’s side are plastered with band and film posters, cartoons, some cheap stock art, bits of poems and song lyrics. So unlike the rest of the dorm rooms with their swimsuit pinups and football stars. Dan probably could have guessed this was Ned’s room without even seeing him in it.

“Who is your roommate?” Dan asks, a little annoyed that he doesn’t already know. From the file he’d read he thought Ned had his own room, but it looks like things have changed. 

Ned just shrugs. “Honestly I dunno.” He gives more away with his studied indifference than he realizes, and Dan finds himself curious about the whole situation. 

“Well I’ve got a delivery for, uh…” Dan gestures at the empty bed, still unsure of who it belongs to. Unlike Ned’s half of the room, there’s little on the other side of the wall to offer any clues about its occupant, but Ned’s attitude is pretty telling. “No way you can make him feel welcome, no?” he asks, more an admonishment than an actual question.

“Yeah, see, he’s a rugby player, so, believe me, my friendship would be a hindrance.” 

“That’s quite a persecution complex you have going on there,” Dan observes, but he’s mildly amused. Ned probably has valid reason to be cautious around the types of boys that have made a hobby of making his life difficult, but as Dan had already guessed, he also seems to take a bit of pride in being the outsider. His sardonic acceptance of Dan’s observation confirms it.

While they’ve been talking Ned has been cradling a guitar on his lap like a shield. The guitar has some graffiti on it, but aside from that it still looks painfully new; it lacks that lived-in warmth of a well-loved guitar, shows no signs of the smudges and worn spots left from long hours of practice. Mostly style, no substance. 

“You going to let me hear something?” Dan asks, mostly out of idle curiosity. 

“Well, I can’t play, and even if I _could_ , I don’t think I’d play anything that you’d like.” 

Dan has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, because seriously, _teenagers_ , but all he says is “Surprise me.”

Dan was right, the boy is clearly a novice, his fingers lacking confidence as they strum the one chord he has memorized. Again. And again. And again.

So _definitely_ a novice then. Dan isn’t sure if it’s pity or teacherly instincts or even just fellow feeling for another misfit that makes him lean in and show Ned where to place his fingers for a different chord. Ned gets it on the first try. 

“Now you know _another_ chord,” Dan mock whispers as he leaves the room, trying to keep an unprofessional look of amusement off his face.

*****

“I have this cousin whose name is Kevin. I’m pretty sure he’s destined for heaven...”

Dan has been reading the introductory essays aloud to himself in a quiet murmur. Reading aloud has always given him a better sense of the words’ full meanings, makes them living things instead of dead symbols on a page. Arthur, his boyfriend going on 2 years, claims to find the practice just the right level of endearingly eccentric for an English teacher. 

It’s Sunday afternoon and they’re ensconced in Arthur’s apartment, enjoying each other’s presence while attending to their separate tasks. Dan has a dark, sad little room assigned to him by the school; it’s not ideal but he earns a little extra money by keeping an eye on the dorms to make sure the hooligans don’t get too rowdy. But on weekends he can usually escape without too much scrutiny to spend some time at Arthur’s. 

He’s managed to muddle through about half of the essays at a steady pace up till now, correcting grammar here and there and trying to make encouraging comments on even the most painfully dull specimens. In some cases he can’t tell if it’s just a total lack of effort, or if the school has been passing some of these boys up through the grades just for the sake of keeping them on the rugby pitch. The overabundance of simple sentences beginning with the words “I” and “the” makes him want to weep for the English language. Who has been teaching these boys?

He pauses a few times to read particularly amusing passages out loud to Arthur, but so far it’s been more dull than amusing. 

That is, until he comes to Ned’s essay. 

The words have a familiar ring to them, and at first Dan can’t quite place it. “I have this cousin whose name is Kevin, I’m pretty sure he’s destined for heaven,” he repeats aloud again, this time slower, more firmly, paying attention to the cadence. Arthur turns from the book he has propped open on the arm of the sofa with an inquisitive raised brow. 

It’s just...so… _familiar_ , like a memory at the back of Dan’s mind that he just can’t pull into focus. 

He repeats it one more time, focusing on each line. It’s so familiar, but also slightly _wrong_ , off somehow...

“I have this cousin who’s name is Kevin, and I’m pretty sure he’s destined for heaven. He’s always spotlessly dressed, clean and neat and…” A tune drifts into his head. 

“That little son of a bitch!” Dan yells, startling Arthur from the cup of tea raised halfway to his mouth. 

Dan reads over the rest of the essay again just to be sure, and it’s all coming back to him now, he can hear the whole song in his head. He can’t hold back his manic laughter as he rushes to the old turntable in the living room and thumbs through the pile of records he’s slowly accumulated here. He crows in victory when he comes to _The Undertones_ , an album he hasn’t played in years. Arthur doesn’t ask for an explanation, just goes back to his tea as Dan places the record on the turntable and lowers the needle. 

Dan claps his hands in giddy relish and looks at Arthur meaningfully, like a magician revealing his grand denouement. But Arthur just shrugs, indicating that the song isn’t familiar to him. Dan shoves the essay into his hand, pointing to the current line so Arthur can read along for himself and share in Dan’s moment of glory. He picks up on it straight away, breaking into an amused grin.

“That cheeky little brat,” Arthur says, handing the essay back. “Thinks he’s pretty clever, doesn’t he? Did he assume you wouldn’t recognize it?”

Dan sets the song on repeat one more time, just to enjoy his triumph a little longer. He remembers most of the lyrics now and sings along in horribly off-key bursts of enthusiasm.

Students have tried to sneak plagiarisms by him in the past, but never has a student resorted to passing off the _lyrics of a whole damn song_ as an original essay. Dan can almost admire that kind of daring. Ned fucking Roche, that sneaky little bastard. _I don’t think I’d play anything that you’d like_ , he remembers Ned boasting. Well well. 

“You know how teenagers are,” Dan replies with a sardonic smirk. “They think they’re the first to discover _everything_ , even punk songs written 20 years before they were born.” 

“He’s probably gotten away with it in the past,” Arthur remarks. “He just didn’t realize his new teacher would be so _young_ and _hip_.” Dan rolls his eyes and accepts the teasing with good grace, giving Arthur a quick kiss on his mischievous, all-too-pleased-with-himself mouth before flinging himself back into this chair.

It’s a sobering thought, after the high of his victory. Arthur is right, Ned probably has been getting away with shenanigans like this for far too long. And it’s a shame; here’s a kid clever enough to submit punk rock lyrics as an autobiographical essay, but all that cleverness and potential is going to waste. It’s an amusing trick, but a shallow one nonetheless. Ned is better than this, Dan can feel it. 

At the very least Dan can commend Ned for his taste in music. Doesn’t mean he won’t make an example of him, though.

*****

It’s a gamble, calling Ned out in front of the whole class. On the one hand, it’s an excellent opportunity to vividly demonstrate his point about using an _authentic voice_. On the other, Ned’s classmates don’t exactly need more ammunition to torment him. There are moral lessons, and then there is humiliation. Dan hopes he’s calculated this right.

“Reveal to me who you are, I said. I set an essay title for you because I wanted to find out about you. And there were some excellent essays,”Dan announces, enjoying the look of mixed dread and anticipation on his student’s faces. “But there was one that stood out above all.” 

He pauses just slightly for dramatic effect, letting some of the students sit in silent tension while they wait to find out if they are on the public chopping block. 

“Ned Roche, do you want to get up here and read it?” Dan tries not to smile in anticipation. He doesn’t want to give the game away yet. 

Ned squirms, trying to politely decline. For a moment Dan considers talking to him privately after class instead, but in the end he can’t resist the theatrics. After all, you don’t become a teacher and stand in front of a crowd all day if you’re not at least a little bit of a showman. 

Ned stands up in front of the class and the other boys break out in a chorus of that godforsaken sound and Dan fears that maybe this was a mistake after all. But it’s too late to back out now or those little wankers will think they control his damn classroom. 

Ned fidgets and delays, and finally bites the bullet and begins to recite. 

“I have this cousin who’s name is Kevin...” The rest of the class looks on, the glazed look of utter boredom in their eyes. Dan doubts they could repeat back a single word. 

His pulls the boombox from under his desk, and a few curious eyes turn his way. 

Dan manages to synch up the song _perfectly_ and feels inordinately proud. It’s the little things that bring him joy, really. Ned looks over at him with a look of panic. He knows he’s been found out but he looks like he doesn’t yet know whether to deny or apologize or play it off as a joke.

“Continue, please,” Dan directs him, as the music plays on without him. The rest of the students still look uncertain, like they haven’t quite caught the plot yet. But when Ned begins reciting again they realize what’s happening and break out in great peals of mirth. They laugh like a pack of hyenas; stupid, cruel, meaningless guffaws. 

It’s not what Dan had hoped for, and he feels his stomach plummet. Ned pushes onward, but his shoulders are curling in on themselves and he scratches at the side of his red face like he wishes he could just hide it in his hands; but Dan will give him credit, he doesn’t. It seems Dan has misread him. Ned puts on a show of being above it all, of not caring what his classmates think. But he is very much not above this, no, he’s sinking, crashing, burning. Dan almost curses aloud. 

He’s made this mess, now it’s his to clean up. He turns off the music and, tragically, Ned keeps reciting his damn sham of an essay. Dan stops him, can’t manage to look him in the eye as he ushers him back to his desk, where Ned slouches like he’d rather not be noticed ever again. It hurts to look at him, reminds Dan of all his worst teenage insecurities. 

“Listen to you,” he admonishes the class, castigating himself in the same breath. “The baying crowd, the bleating sheep. Why do you assume that this lesson isn’t for _you_? Never, ever, _ever_ use. A borrowed. Voice. You’re all individual--” He’s cut off by the class bell and wants to scream his frustration at just how wrong this has all gone. 

Fuck it, he DOES scream. “STOP. STOP.”

The students not yet out of the room all freeze, watching him in shock. Teachers don’t yell like that. 

“If you spend your whole life being someone else, _who’s going to be you_?” he demands. The students stare back at him with a mix of confusion and apathy. They’re so young, they don’t yet understand that you can spend a whole _lifetime_ pretending to be someone else, how easy it is to slip into that pattern of uncorrected assumptions. How lonely it can be when no one knows the real you, because you chose security over authenticity. 

He dismisses the students with a frustrated wave. You can’t instill by force those lessons which can only be learned by living, he knows this. But he’s frustrated with himself, with their blissful, youthful ignorance, with what he’s done here today. In trying to teach a lesson he set himself up to be the bully, and it touches that raw part of himself that still vividly remembers what it’s like to be the outcast. 

Arthur calls him that evening to ask how it went, a thread of amused anticipation in his voice, and Dan wants to vomit up the whiskey he’s been slowly but steadily drinking since classes ended for the day. For all his railing about being your authentic self, he can’t seem to get the truth past the bile in his throat. 

“It got the message across,” is all he can bring himself to say.

*****

From the first class, Dan hasn’t known quite what to make of Conor Masters. He knows that Conor is one of the school’s precious Rugby Elite. But Conor doesn’t participate in the jovial rowdiness of the other boys in class, doesn’t joke or shove or make that infernal, coded noise. He keeps to himself, a perfectly self-contained unit. Looking at Conor and Ned, the two still, silent points in the tumult of adolescent testosterone around them, it reminds Dan of that old Simon & Garfunkel song. _I am a rock, I am an island._

Conor does a passable job in class, never volunteering but participating without complaint when called upon. Dan catches the passing sense that there are depths beneath that outer veneer of calm. Still waters run deep, and all that. 

Plus there’s what he’s learned of Conor since he’s arrived, since Dan got a chance to look at his files: only child; star rugby player at his old school, from which he was expelled for fighting; a dad with a drinking problem; a distant mother unsure of how to deal with her family falling apart. It’s the fighting that intrigues Dan most, because so far he’s seen no signs of cruelty or aggression in Conor at all. Hell, if anything Conor acts like he’d rather be left alone entirely rather than engage in any kind of exchange with his fellow students, violent or otherwise. He’s intriguing, for all that he tries so hard to be forgettable.

 

After the Ned incident Dan takes a new approach to reaching his students. Singling out one student had been amusing for the rest, but it’s no way to build bonds. He wants these kids to learn something, to get something out of this class, not just sit at their desks like disinterested lumps. 

He starts off with games. Kids who normally wouldn’t even look at each other in the hall are brought together in the name of competition. It’s something almost none of them can resist. He makes games out of memorization and recitation, out of vocabulary and book trivia. Even Ned and Conor seem to become part of the group, to take an interest in things outside themselves. 

When Conor starts volunteering in class and Ned stops avoiding his eyes, Dan considers it progress. Just maybe he can do some good for these kids after all.

*****

Dan first sees the flyer for the variety show being hosted by the local girls school posted in the faculty lounge. He doesn’t think much of it at all until later that afternoon when Headmaster Curly faux-casually drops by Dan’s classroom while he’s finishing up some grading. Dan is immediately nervous; Curly isn’t one to take a hands-on approach with his students. He believes his role as headmaster is to keep the school running and provide discipline when necessary. But for any serious discussions he no doubt would have called Dan into his office, not stopped by his classroom.

Curly looks blatantly out of place in the immaculate suit he seems to wear at all times. It makes Dan feel vaguely guilty for only wearing a sweater and not a suit jacket today, like a pupil caught breaking the dress code. Maybe it's the age difference or Curly’s air of authority, but being around him always makes Dan feel like an insecure teenager again. 

“Mr. Sherry, I just wanted to drop by to ask if you had heard about the variety show coming up at St. Mary’s later this semester.” His expression is perfectly bland, and Dan is a little taken aback. He has to take a moment to think back because, yes, he had seen the flyer, but he hadn’t taken any particular notice as it didn’t directly pertain to him. 

“I heard about it just today,” Dan replies, not offering anything else. 

“Since you are new here you may not be aware, but it is customary for Woodhill to send a few of its students to participate. We have a close relationship with St. Mary’s, and it is a good opportunity to showcase our best and brightest to the community.” Curly pauses and looks at Dan significantly. 

“It would be appreciated if you could drum up some volunteers,” he says, his tone on the word _volunteers_ making it absolutely clear that he does not care what coercive tactics are used to force participation. 

Dan wants to sigh but holds back. He wonders if all the teachers are receiving this same lecture or if he is just being suckered into it because he’s the newest member of faculty. Probably the latter. He’s made himself such an easy target by being so agreeable, in his effort to fit in and be liked by his colleagues. 

“I might have a few interested students,” Dan replies, though he already knows how unlikely that is. Most boys that age are loathe to make a spectacle of themselves in public, unless it’s on an athletic field. But since he’s not being given much choice, neither will they. 

“Good, good,” Curly replies, his tone more skeptical than Dan would appreciate. But with only some minor social niceties he’s out of the room and Dan can slump back into his seat. 

Who the hell is he going to convince to participate in the variety show, and how? The class recently performed soliloquies from Shakespeare, and some of the students even enjoyed themselves, but he knows there’s no way in hell he could convince them to get up and do that in front of _girls_. It’s far too geeky. There are several athletes in the class but it’s not like they can kick a rugby ball on stage. 

He’s flicking through a mental rolo-deck of his students when he pauses on Ned. Not just Ned, Ned and Conor. Dan was doing his routine walk of the dorms to check for any beyond-the-pale mischief a few nights ago when he heard the sound of guitar music from their room. The door had been partially open and Dan hadn’t felt too bad about nudging it open a little farther and observing. 

Dan already knew that Ned was attempting to learn the guitar and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had now mastered at least 5 chords (though probably not too much more). He was surprised to find that Conor not only played the guitar as well, but played quite a bit better than Ned. Either he’d begun to learn before he transferred here or he was a fast study. Neither of them could truly play a full song yet, it seemed, but together they muddled through a few basic tunes. 

When they noticed Dan standing in the doorway Conor had been embarrassed, like he’d been caught out in a secret. Dan couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed to be caught playing music, or to be caught spending time voluntarily with Ned in close quarters. 

Dan was aware when the Berlin Wall had come down, and he had noticed the corresponding change in Conor. He was less detached, more likely to participate his own thoughts in class. Dan had chalked the change up to Conor settling in to his new environment, but maybe his roommate had more to do with it than Dan had guessed. 

Ned, for his part, looked pleased to see Dan. He immediately started demonstrating his new chords, like a child showing off a new trick. 

“Five chords, impressive,” Dan said, and Ned beamed. Conor still looked faintly embarrassed, but more at ease now that the focus was on Ned. 

He had left them to their practicing, Ned more enthusiastic than ever and Conor obligingly patient. 

Dan thinks about that now and...maybe. Maybe it could work. It’s not like he’s spoiled for choice.

His mind flashes back to Ned, standing at the front of the classroom, his face painted red in shame. Maybe this is Dan’s shot at redemption. Conor is considered cool just by virtue of being on the rugby team; if he performs with Ned, there’s no way the other students would dare tease them. It might even earn Ned a few points, in their eyes. 

During the next class he brings up the subject of the variety show, and to his utter lack of surprise there are no volunteers. He tries to sweeten the pot with the promise of extra credit, but it’s still not enough to tempt anyone. Ned is slumped over his desk like he maybe knows what’s coming when Dan walks up behind him and nudges his shoulder. He won’t force, he’s decided, but he will very strongly suggest. Ned rolls his eyes and looks at Conor, who shrugs. 

Not a ringing endorsement, but not a no, either.

*****

Since he’s gotten them into this, Dan takes it upon himself to coach the boys a bit, to make sure they won’t make a complete spectacle of themselves.

Dan had been only mildly surprised when Ned invited him down to his secret basement room, where he and Conor have been practicing. Of course the school had a room like this, almost every boarding school does. Teenage boys always have secrets they need to hide away from the faculty, whether it’s booze or porn or the forbidden pleasures of rock 'n roll. This room looks like it’s been lovingly cared for and expanded by generations of Woodhill students, each contributing to the music collection and the graffiti covering every spare inch of wall. He’s not surprised that Ned, in his solo ramblings, has discovered this room, only that more students haven’t. 

Dan stops down after class finishes up for the day to see how they are coming along. It’s obvious from the bit he overhears that it’s...still a work in progress. He can’t keep the grimace off his face because really, there’s playing a guitar and then there’s just abusing one.

“Hey fellas, how’s it going?” he asks unnecessarily. 

“Awful--”

“Extremely bad,” they answer in unison. Well at least they’re under no illusions. 

“And why is that?” Dan asks, hoping there’s some answer beyond the obvious. 

“Well, we’re not these _deadly_ Spanish guitar players, we can’t do an instrumental,” Ned explains, stating the obvious. It’s no more than Dan had expected, but he lets him continue. “We have to do a song, but neither of us wants to be _the singer_.” 

“No, definitely not,” Conor confirms, and Ned shakes his head in denial. 

“And why not the both of you?” Dan asks. If both are afraid of standing out they may as well cooperate. 

“What like _Simon & Garfunkel_?” Ned asks, voice dripping with disdain, and Dan has to restrain from rolling his eyes for the tenth time since this conversation began. For all his love of old music Ned’s tastes could use some broadening.

“Yeah, like Simon & Garfunkel.” 

“I don’t think so,” Ned dismisses. 

“What not cool enough for your now, huh?” 

“Honestly, not really.” And Dan _does_ roll his eyes then, praying for the patron saint of long-suffering teachers to give him the patience not to strangle this kid. Paul Simon will _always_ be cool, teenagers are just too young and self-absorbed to appreciate it. 

Dan turns to put on the record he brought with him, the song he thinks will be perfect for them if he can manage to convince them it’s not _lame_. 

“Well, you, young man, need to learn about what is much more important than cool, and that is,” he pauses for dramatic effect as the record begins to play, “...what is beautiful.”

The boys still look skeptical as the opening bars of _Think for a Minute_ play. 

The chorus kicks in and they immediately change from skeptical to full-out derisive. 

“It’s _so high_ ,” Ned complains of the falsetto. Of course he doesn’t appreciate that that’s the beauty of it. 

“ _So high_ ,” Dan mocks as he leaves them to it, nearly running into one of Conor’s rugby mates on the way out. He’ll let them stew on it for a while. Ned wanted something _cooler_ than Simon  & Garfunkel, so this is what Dan has got. It’s up to them to decide if they have the courage to go for what is beautiful over what is cool.

*****

Dan has always been careful about where he and Arthur go out together. Only trusted bars or clubs where he knows the other patrons well, where nobody will care who they are, that they’re _together_.

The bar in town is one they’ve been to many times before, whenever they want a night out away from the tedium of the school’s more provincial neighborhood. They’ve made friends here, the type of friends who only exist within the confines of a safe shared space. 

Arthur thinks that Dan is maybe too cautious. He doesn’t use the word cowardly, but it’s sometimes implied, depending on his mood. But Arthur is lucky enough to have a family that knows about his orientation and doesn’t care. They’re very Italian and very open with their feelings. They don’t know about Dan, specifically, but they know that Arthur has a boyfriend and they have indicated a willingness to welcome him with open arms, if only Dan would let them. 

He knows his reticence frustrates Arthur, but Dan just doesn’t come from that kind of family. The Sherrys are much more old-school Catholic Gloom & Doom, the kind who couch their bigotry in bible verses and thinly veiled concern for his soul. It’s just always been easier not to make waves. 

So Dan lives his compartmentalized life. And this compartment, at his favorite gay bar, is where he gets to be most himself. 

Which makes it all the more disconcerting when Conor _fucking_ Masters wanders his way into Dan’s sanctuary and totally upends his life. 

Dan is sitting at a table with Arthur, comfortably leaning into each other's space, stealing sips of each others drinks and lingering kisses from each others lips. He’s in that happy no man’s land between tipsy and drunk territory, exactly where he wants to be. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to make it down here, but tonight, with the whole school emptied out for the big quarter-final rugby game, had felt like a safe time to get away. 

When Dan first sees Conor across the room it doesn’t even register. All he notices is a tall frame with broad shoulders and floppy hair, among a sea of tall men and broad shoulders and floppy hair. It’s only when he notices the intense stare directed his way that Dan actually focuses on the face. 

It’s the kind of stare he’s always avoided, the kind of stare you get for showing too much affection on the train or in the grocery store; not _here_ , where it’s expected. That stare clears the happy fog from Dan’s mind and he finally slots the familiar parts into place: Conor in his school uniform, his stoic mask slipping to show something Dan can’t quite identify from this distance. 

“Shit,” he mutters, quickly pushing away from the hand Arthur had been caressing against his cheek. Arthur is clearly confused and more than a little put out when Dan suddenly distances himself, but he catches the alarm that slides across Dan’s face. 

“What’s wrong?” he leans in to ask, having to speak up over the thump of the music. Dan nods in Conor’s direction, and – ah shit, make that the spot Conor occupied a moment before, the spot he has now fled with great haste. 

For a few moments Dan is paralyzed-- by the fear of what Conor just saw and what he thinks it means, by the look of disappointment on Arthur’s face and what _it_ means. He can only fix one of these problems and he’s frozen with the enormity of the choice. 

After wasted minutes of indecision he gets up and leaves the bar, determined to find Conor and explain. But explain what, exactly? That he is an adult, with a life that in no way affects his duties as a teacher, doing things that are in no way Conor’s goddamn business? 

That’s the rational approach that he might take if he were not already a few sheets to the wind. Instead his drunken mind is filled with panic and the instinct to _deny deny deny_ , like he’s back in high school hiding the signs of his first crush from his mother. He doesn’t have time to explain it all to Arthur now; he just hopes he gets the chance to explain it later. 

Conor could be anywhere, could be off wandering the city looking for more bars where he doesn’t belong. Dan feels a blind panic when he doesn’t immediately spot him outside the bar. But he turns the closest corner and catches a glimpse of a familiar broad back headed towards the train station. At least that means he’s headed back to school, away from further trouble. Dan stumbles after him, just managing to board the train before the doors close. 

He finds Conor a few cars up, body stiff and wary in a plush seat, looking like he’d rather be left alone, possibly for the rest of his life. Dan can wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment, but it can’t be avoided. It’s like the train is a temporal nowhere land, a purgatory between his life back at school and the life he lives when he’s with Arthur. If he doesn’t clear this up with Conor now, before they’re back at the school, then that knowledge will carry over, will be part of his life there. _Someone will know_ , and all his carefully organized compartments will be in shambles. 

So Dan steels himself for the most awkward conversation of his life. He’s not even sure where to begin, just starts blurting out the first things that come to mind. 

“Ah, hey, Conor, you’re on the train! I nearly missed the bloody train!” Smooth, Dan thinks, so smooth. But he plunges ahead with any topic he can think of that will delay the inevitable. 

“So congratulations on today, I heard you played pretty well?” Rugby, sure, talk about rugby. 

“Uh, I actually missed a few kicks, not my best,” Conor replies, self-effacing as always. 

“Well, still you got the quarter--” 

“Semi,” Conor interrupts, “semi-finals.” He laughs awkwardly but despite everything he still looks proud. 

“Well, no pressure then,” Dan says and wants to kick himself. It’s the wrong thing to say, breaks the illusion of bland, good-natured small talk they’ve both been striving for. 

Guess it’s time to face the music, then. Dan tries several times and falters, unable to come up with a way to approach this that isn’t “ _please don’t tell anyone I’m gay._ ” 

“I might have a cup of tea or something,” he blurts, brain apparently retreating once again into avoidance. “Not much of a coffee drinker, like a nice cup of tea…” he rambles on, unable to stop himself once he’s started. What is he doing, this is the stupidest he’s felt since he was 15. 

“Sir,” Conor interrupts, trying to save Dan from himself, maybe, or just unable to take the tension anymore. He’s far braver than Dan. 

“Before-- it’s not my thing. I was just...bursting for the loo, and it was the nearest bar around.”

Now that he’s started the denial train it’s easier for Dan to jump aboard as well. 

“No, you know, my _friend_ there, Conor, he’s very affectionate…He’s Italian you know,very...” Dan makes awkward hugging and kissing gestures with his hands and Conor looks both relieved and like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Conor, I think a certain degree of...discretion, would--”

“I- I’m never going to say _anything_ , sir, about _anything_ ,” Conor swears with all the earnestness of someone who wants nothing more than to never even think of this again.

“Ok, good,” Dan says. 

“Ok, right,” Conor echoes, and that’s that, apparently. Skeletons locked firmly back in their respective closets. It’s both a relief and somehow anticlimactic. He’d maybe expected to have to do more convincing, but it looks like they’ve both got things they would rather not talk about.

Dan makes his hasty exit to go fetch them tea and to give them both some space to breathe. He’s so focused on the narrowly avoided disaster that it isn’t until he’s waiting in line for drinks that he even thinks to text Arthur and explain what the hell just happened. 

When he finally digs out his phone he has five text messages on the increasingly angry theme of _what is going on?_

[ _Sorry to disappear, had a bit of an emergency_ ] Dan replies after ordering two teas from the woman behind the snack counter. What a stupid move, offering Conor tea. Now he has to go back and make more painful small talk. But in the heat of the awkward moment he couldn’t think of a better excuse to leave, and the caffeine will help with the lingering fog of alcohol clouding his brain. 

[ _What kind of emergency?_ ] Arthur texts back less than 30 seconds later. At least he’s not ignoring Dan yet. 

[ _One of my students, he was at the club. He saw us._ ]

[ _and?_ ] That’s it, the one judgemental word, and Dan knows where this conversation is heading. It’s a conversation he’s been avoiding for a while, one he definitely didn’t want to have tonight, but one he brought upon himself.

[ _And I can’t risk my job because of a student spreading rumors about me. I had to explain to him._ ]

[ _Explain what? That you were having a perfectly normal night out with your boyfriend? That you’re an adult with a life outside the school?_ ]

Before Dan can even start to type a reply another texts comes in. 

[ _Did you even tell him I was your boyfriend?_ ] 

It stings, that Arthur has to ask, even more that he already knows the answer. While it has occasionally come up before, Arthur has generally been respectful of Dan’s desire to keep their relationship private. “Relationships are for the people in them,” he likes to say when Dan is feeling guilty about not going out more or agreeing to meet Arthur’s family. But no man has infinite patience, not even Arthur.

[ _You know I can’t, not at school_ ] Dan sends back, but the argument feels weaker than it ever has before. 

He thinks about Conor, there in the club, thinks about what that most likely means, despite his excuses. He thinks about Ned, thinks about how he could maybe make a difference, be a role model for boys like them. 

But then he thinks about the kind of jokes that get told in the faculty lounge, the insinuations that are whispered behind people’s backs. The teachers aren’t all that much different from their teenage pupils, and Dan is new at Woodhill, wants to stay there. He thinks about the way the students would react if they knew, whether they’d make that hateful sound under their breath when they think he can’t hear them. Or worse, when they know he can.

The woman behind the snack counter clears her throat, holding out an insulated paper cup in each hand. Dan hastily shoves his phone in his jacket pocket and thanks her, taking the teas. 

He feels his phone vibrate against his side as he’s headed back towards the car where he left Conor, and he is simultaneously dreading Arthur’s reply and desperate to see it. Until he sees that text it’s like Schrodinger's breakup -- his heart is both broken, and not. He can’t dig out his phone with a cup in each hand so he walks faster, some of the scalding tea sloshing over the sides and onto his hands. 

When he gets back Conor is exactly where Dan left him, sitting with his eyes closed in the most tense imitation of sleep that Dan has ever seen. 

Dan quietly places one of the cups on the tray table in front of Conor and lets him carry on with his deception. Dan can’t blame him, when he also is not eager to have to make more awkward chit chat about anything but the elephant in the train car. 

He finally takes his seat and immediately reaches for his phone. 

[ _I need some time to think about things_ ] is all it says. 

Dan wants to slam the phone against the table, wants to throw his tea and punch the chairs and scream in impotent anger; at his own stupidity, at the cruel confluence of chance that brought him here tonight. 

But a pupil of his is pretending to sleep in order to avoid talking to him just a foot away, so Dan does none of that. 

Instead he texts back [ _I’m sorry_ ], and stares at his phone until long after his eyes have gone dry, waiting for the screen to light up with a response. 

It doesn’t.

*****

Against all odds, Dan and Conor’s relationship is actually a little closer after that night. Despite their denials and pledges never to say a word, they have a shared secret now, and maybe a better understanding of one another.

Dan slots this new information into what he knows of Conor and thinks, _why didn’t I see it before_? Unlike many gay teeangers, Conor’s athletecism gives him the perfect chance to hide in plain sight. He manages to fly under the radar at the same time that he’s in the spotlight. 

Things also seem to shift between Conor and Ned after that night, though Dan has no idea if it’s related or not. But their performance finally starts to gel together and Dan stops worrying that he made a terrible mistake by forcing them into this. 

There are certainly still things to work on, though. The day before the performance Dan drags them both outside to practice on the abandoned court. It has good acoustics, and make a good makeshift amphitheater. Dan climbs on top of the squat building nextdoor and directs the boys into place. 

They sound good sitting huddled together in their basement hideout, but tomorrow night they’re going to be on a stage in front of a lot of people. If they can’t play outside, with only Dan for an audience, they’ll fall apart in the spotlight. 

They start out soft, embarrassed, tentative, and it won’t do. 

“You can’t whimper like some whiddly little field mice, ok?” Dan shouts down to them. “You’ve got to PROJECT! Reveal to me who you are! If you dare!”

It’s a phrase he’s been using since the start of the semester, but it’s maybe more apt than ever, now. 

The boys get a little louder, but it’s not enough, they’re still hiding within themselves. 

“Louder! Louder!” he shouts, and finally, they get it. 

They sound _good_ , Dan thinks, as he climbs back down and comes to join them. He feels proud of them, not just that they’ve improved their guitar work, but that they’ve come together. Dan has sat in on some of their practices, has watched how open and easy they’ve become with one another. He thinks it’s good for the both of them; Ned has been isolated for far too long, and Conor has been alone, despite being the center of school attention. When they play together they joke around, take the piss, challenge each other to increasingly ridiculous guitar duels. 

It’s good that they have each other, Dan thinks. He just doesn’t realize how tenuous that bond is.

*****

The night of the variety show Ned is a mass of nerves, standing backstage. Dan isn’t even going onstage, but the anxiety rolling off of Ned is giving him the jitters, like a contact high consisting of restless legs and a queasy stomach.

Conor is nowhere to be found. And while Ned looks devastated, he doesn’t look all that surprised, and _that_ is what kills Dan. He hopes for Conor’s sake, for Ned’s sake, that Ned is wrong; that Conor is on his way right this minute, that he just got held up. Or maybe he’s come down violently ill, only the most dire of circumstances forcing him to abandon his friend. 

“He’s going to make it.” Dan tries to inject his voice with a confidence he doesn’t feel. They both know he’s faking it, but it’s his job as the adult to put on a brave face. 

“I can’t do it alone,” Ned insists, having already given up.

“You can, you can do it,” Dan says, though there’s a ball of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. He’s put Ned in this situation before, and look how it turned out. 

Ned just shakes his head, rolls his shoulders, readjusts his guitar strap for the thousandth time. He watches the act before his perform, every last ounce of confidence draining from his posture as the crowd cheers. Dan tries another pep talks but the words ring hollow. 

They’re just two teenage boys. It’s just a variety show. It shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of life, the universe, and everything. But for some reason tonight feels like a tipping point, like so much is at stake. It’s a referendum, taking place in this tiny microcosm, on who is worthy, who gets respect, what choices are acceptable and what things aren’t choices at all. 

It may be overdramatic, but the tension is getting to Dan. At the very least he knows for a fact that two things do hang in the balance tonight: Conor and Ned’s friendship, and Ned’s painstakingly constructed self-confidence. Dan is afraid he’s about to watch both of those things shatter in front of an unforgiving audience. 

Ned and Conor are up next. It’s the moment of truth, a cruel and painful truth. 

It’s on the tip of Dan’s tongue to tell Ned he doesn’t have to do this, but instead he finds himself offering encouragement. Then the announcer calls Conor and Ned’s names and it’s too late now. Something shutters in Ned’s eyes before he resolutely walks out on to that stage, alone. 

In the teen movie version of his life, Ned would go out there and wow the crowd all on his own. He would win the respect of his peers, even without Conor there as his crutch. 

But Ned’s life, like Dan’s own, has never been a fairy tale. 

Dan watches in the wings as Ned falters, absorbs the blows, keeps going, falters again. Dan badly wants to go out on that stage and curse out those people snickering and booing. What Ned is doing out there takes more guts than they’ll ever have. How fucking _dare_ they, those little shits. But Dan was a teenager once and he know that it would only make things worse for Ned. 

He curses himself, too, for putting Ned in this position, for leaving him vulnerable. Dan feels each laugh like a blow and he’s sure Ned feels them a hundred times more keenly.

When Ned walks off the stage his face is alarmingly pale between the splotches of humiliated red on his cheeks. He looks close to tears, and Dan can’t even bring himself to offer him some token platitude. It just plain old sucks, all of it. Being abandoned, being humiliated, being a teenager full stop. Being a teenager sucks for just about everyone, but particularly for boys like Ned, for boys like Dan. It shouldn’t be that way, not anymore, but it is. 

After the show Dan can’t face going back to his lonely room. The room where he lives alone because he’s too chickenshit to admit to the world that he’s in love with a wonderful, kind, amazing man. Things have been tense ever since the mess with Conor and the club. It all feels too raw right now, Ned’s pain and his own guilt. He’s a grown up now, he’s supposed to have his life together, but all he keeps doing is fucking up. 

He pulls his phone out and dials before he can talk himself out of it, hoping against hope that Arthur will pick up. He can’t face another brutal rejection tonight. 

“Hey love, how was the big show?” It hits Dan simultaneously how lucky he is and how stupid he’s been. It’s time to start seriously reevaluating his priorities. 

“Actually, it was a bit of a flaming shitshow. Can I...can I come over and tell you about it?” 

There’s a short pause, really less than the span of a breath, but to Dan it feels like a gaping hole in the landscape of his world. He knows this is as much a turning point for him and Arthur as it was for Ned and Conor earlier tonight. He prays to all the gods he can’t bring himself to believe in that their story ends differently. 

“Yeah, okay,” Arthur finally answers, his voice a solemn, comforting weight. 

It doesn’t relieve all the tension Dan is still carrying from this night and from the past few weeks, but it’s a start.

*****

It’s clear by the next day that Conor _wasn’t_ deathly ill or held back by some other dire emergency that prevented him from making it to the variety show. He’s not in class, but Dan has received notice that the rugby players will all be excused for extra practice.

Ned is in class, his body hunched up as small as possible in his desk. It’s a small mercy that not many Woodhill boys were at the variety show, most of them too caught up in the rugby excitement. Still, Ned will barely even look at Dan, and he looks relieved to not have to face Conor. Dan wonders if they’ve seen each other at all, and suspects not. 

Dan doesn’t go specifically looking for Pascal O'Keeffe, insufferable coach of the rugby team. He’s just on his way to the dining hall when he passes Pascal sitting on the steps, not a care in the world for the trouble Dan is almost certain he’s orchestrated. 

Dan isn’t usually one for confrontation. He knows Pascal doesn’t like him much, but they generally just avoid each other. Not much reason for an English teacher and a rugby coach to talk, anyway. But there are a lot of things Dan has been avoiding saying these days, and something has to give. 

“Hey there, Pascal,” Dan greets the coach, “can I have a word?” He’s aiming for friendly, but O'Keeffe immediately shoots down his efforts. 

“It’s a free country,” he grunts, and maybe in the past Dan would have accepted the dismissal, but today he’s got things to say.

“So you must be pretty excited, quarter-finals--”

“Semi-finals,” O'Keeffe interrupts, not even deigning to look at Dan. 

Dan accepts the correction with good grace. “Must be exciting?” he asks, just to make small talk. 

“It’s no time for complacency,” O'Keeffe replies, and Dan agrees wholeheartedly. 

“So, listen-- Conor, he didn’t show up to sing at the variety show.” It’s not even a question, but O'Keeffe answers without hesitation. 

“He had kicking practice.” 

Well, that answers that question definitively. 

“Oh, you knew about it?” Dan asks, with thinly veiled disdain. It’s at least some comfort to think that Conor had been forced into missing the show by this arsehole, rather than making the decision to abandon Ned on his own. 

Dan isn’t expecting it when O'Keeffe stands up, gets far too close into his personal space. 

“I consider you something of a Trojan horse, Sherry.” Dan’s mind boggles, because seriously, what the fuck? He can only stutter his confusion. 

“Encouraging Conor Masters to be a singer? One week before the semi-final of the senior cup?”

“I’m trying to help him,” Dan defends, and it’s the truth. Conor needs more in his life than rugby, than a group of men who may never bring themselves to understand or accept him. 

“You can have the weird ones with the dyed hair and the banjos. I’ve got fuck-all use for them, no interest,” O'Keeffe leans in to whisper directly in Dan’s ear. It’s the most uncomfortable he’s ever felt, maybe in his entire life. 

“I’ll say this to you the once,” O'Keeffe continues. “You’d do well to let that boy focus on his rugby. You get me?” There’s a not-so-subtle threat there, and Dan knows exactly what he’s implying. 

Maybe once, not even that long ago, the implied threat would have scared the shit out of him. The idea that a man like O'Keeffe might out him, might wield that power over his life. But now he sees Pascal for what he is: a small, pathetic little man with nothing else in his life but this stupid game. 

“You got apple in your beard.” It’s the only thing Dan can think to say, but it seems to do the trick of unnerving O'Keeffe. He backs away and Dan makes his escape as casually as possible. 

It’s not exactly how Dan was expecting that conversation to go, but O'Keeffe let on far more than he expected. Dan knows the lay of the land, now. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

*****

Dan isn't at the cheer practice assembly where everything goes so terribly wrong. After his class is dragged away in the middle of his lesson he’s left with the remained of the period to grade some papers in his empty classroom. He’s not disappointed to miss it.

He doesn't realize anything is amiss until he hears students start filtering back into the hallways sooner than he expected. He checks his watch; practice was supposed to go until the end of the period, another 30 minutes at least. He sighs to himself, annoyed at the loss of his promised free time.

But none of the students come back into his classroom. They all pass, on their way outdoors or back to the dorms. They're either playing hooky or they've been released early; either way Dan is just glad he doesn't have to deal with them.

Their voices are raised, excited, laughing with brash amusement. It's nothing out of the ordinary, except...Dan listens more closely and starts to pick up the thread. “Conor” and “Masters” and “Ned” and “fag” all feature quite prominently in these conversations, along with entire choruses of that _noise_. 

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut. The boys have been giving each other the cold shoulder since the variety show betrayal, so any mention of them together doesn't feel like good news.

Dan does the only thing he can do, at the moment: he goes to his doorway and plays the dutiful teacher, shushing and admonishing the students to keep their voices down, you bunch of barbarians. He sees one of the students from his Comp & Lit class, one of the quiet, competent boys, and pulls him aside.

“What's all the ruckus about, Liam, I thought you were all being forcefully instilled with school pride this afternoon?”

Liam looks nervous, distressed, not full of mean good humor like the rest of the throng. He casts his eyes down, avoiding Dan’s increasingly uneasy gaze.

“There was a, uh...an incident,” Liam mutters to the floor. “With Ned…” He goes no further. Dan feels so tightly wound with tension that he wants to snap at the boy to tell him everything, but it's not fair to take his frustrations out on Liam. Teachers are supposed to have more restraint than their charges.

“Where is Ned?” he asks instead, hoping maybe he can go right to the source and get to the bottom of this.

“In the headmaster's office,” Liam replies. He's watching the other students streaming out into the sunshine and Dan takes pity of him, sending him off with a nudge to the shoulder.

Liam looks relieved, but Dan's heart feels heavier and heavier. If Ned is in the headmaster's office then whatever has happened must be serious.

*****

Dan only hears the rest of the story through rumors. He asks Curly if he can speak to Ned, but he’s denied. Ned is no longer a pupil at this school, Curly informs him. No longer his student. Dan can’t believe it has all escalated so quickly.

He’s in his room that night, still trying to wrap his head around how it all went so wrong, when there’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s not Conor Masters. Conor hasn’t spoken to Dan outside of class at all in the few days since the variety show. Dan can’t figure out if it’s guilt, or shame, or maybe he’s under orders from his coach not to.

“Can I talk to you?” Conor asks, his body a long line of misery. He looks like he wants nothing more than to hide away, but unfortunately Dan can’t invite him in. 

They go for a walk, the quiet night providing as much privacy as they can get around here. Still, Dan has the wary sense of eyes watching them. Maybe he’s just paranoid after O'Keeffe’s threats. 

“So, big day tomorrow, Conor.” He tries to make light small talk, to delay the inevitable. It’s a lot like another conversation they’ve had, only this time Conor refuses to play along. 

“I can’t do it,” Conor says, his voice thick. 

“It’s just nerves. You’re a great player, a great team.”

“It’s got nothing to do with it,” Conor insists, and Dan already knows what he’s getting at. He can see it’s been eating Conor up, maybe since that night in the bar, maybe even before. 

“Sir, I _saw_ you with your friend. You were _together_.” Dan has to take a breath, steel himself for this conversation that he’s tried so desperately to avoid. 

“So you saw me with a friend, Conor, so what?” He’s still trying to deflect, but he doesn’t have the energy for this dance anymore. They both know what they’re really talking about. This isn’t about protecting himself, right now, Conor needs help, needs reassurance. 

“Look, I know it’s hard. I know. But, it gets better. Trust me.” He hopes it sounds more convincing that he feels. 

“When I’m older,” Conor says with a sarcastic laugh, like he’s heard this line before. 

“Yeah, when you’re older,” Dan confirms. “Sad fact of life.” And it is, god, it is.

“So I’m just supposed to keep lying?” Conor demands, but he’s not just talking about himself anymore. 

“It’s not a lie,” Dan defends. “It’s not necessarily lying if you keep something to yourself.” Dan wants to believe this, has to believe this. It’s the concept he’s built his life around. 

But Conor calls him on his bullshit. 

“If you pretend to be something you’re not then that’s a lie. Sir, I remember the lesson with Ned, I remember when you called him out for plagiarising that song. ‘Don’t use a borrowed voice,’ you said, ‘don’t be a sheep.’” He throws Dan’s words back at him, and Dan wants to vomit. 

“Sir, you said that lesson wasn’t just for Ned, you said it was for all of us. So why am I exempt, why am I _different_ from everyone else?”

“You can’t be all things at all times to all men, Conor, it’s not smart.”

“Why not?”

“Sometimes you need to keep things hidden away, to protect yourself.” Dan pauses, trying to muster a conviction he doesn’t feel. “There will come a point in the future where you won’t have to lie anymore. Trust me.”

“Are you at that point?” It’s like a dagger, stabbed right in his most vulnerable spot. He’s not. He’s not at that point and he’s not in any position to be giving life advice to vulnerable teenagers. He’s fucked up enough already. 

“This isn’t about me,” Dan deflects, but in the end all he has to offer is platitudes. “It gets better. That’s all I can say to you, please believe me, Conor…”

“How on earth can I even begin to believe you?” Conor asks, stalking away in the dark. 

Dan stays out there, alone, trying to catch his breath, collect his thoughts. He feels like he’s been gutted. A seventeen year old boy has shaken the very foundations on which he’s built his life, how he sees himself. He’s been called out, and he has no good answer. 

What kind of teacher is he if he can’t help his students when it really matters? He tries to offer them life lessons in the classroom but shys away from their real world impact. 

He’s 33 years old. He has a boyfriend who puts up with far more than he should have to because Dan is too scared to let people see the real him, because he’s never gotten over his fear of rejection. He has two students who he’s let down, one who has been expelled and the other who has been exiled. He can’t do a damn thing right. 

Maybe it’s time to take some of his own damn advice.

*****

Dan is still stewing on it the next morning when he runs into O'Keeffe in the hall. He greets him politely, because Dan refuses to take the low road.

To his surprise, O'Keeffe rounds on him. 

“Bet you’re delighted, Sherry, huh? Over the fucking moon?” Dan has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, because in the past week he’s found very fucking little to be delighted about. 

“Conor Masters,” O'Keeffe insists, “missing on the day of the final.”

Dan stomach sinks. Missing? Where did he go last night, after they talked? Has he run away, or worse? His pulse starts racing with worry.

“Missing, yes, what part of missing don’t you understand?” O'Keeffe demands, because he’s a self-absorbed arsehole. He only cares that his star player isn’t going to make the game, not about what might have happened to Conor. 

As soon as O'Keeffe is out of sight Dan hurries to the room that Ned and Conor share-- or used to share. Now it’s bare, with no sign that either boy ever lived there. It hurts to look at it, devoid of all that life and personality. 

Dan can’t stop thinking about it, but there’s nothing he can do. The headmaster is supposedly in charge in a situation like this, but from what Dan can tell he seems to be doing fuck-all.

Dan wasn’t really planning to go to the big rugby game, but he’s so nervous and jittery that he can’t focus on anything else. It’s something to do, at least, and maybe Conor will show up. 

Dan is on the train surrounded by rowdy teenage boys, entirely not in the mood for their gaiety, when Curly sits down opposite him. Curly makes small talk, expresses concern over Conor and admits that he’s called the guard, but insists there’s not much else he can do. It’s the last thread for Dan’s frayed nerves. 

“Oh who cares about the _fucking rugby_ , Walter?” Dan demands, amid a crowd of boys who seem to care about nothing else. “Some boys don’t play rugby. What about those boys?”

Curly looks properly cowed, and Dan would maybe be worried about being fired if he weren’t so busy being angry and exhausted and anxious for Conor. 

He leaves his seat and goes to the quietest part of the train he can find, which ends up being the loo. It’s small and cramped, but at least it’s private. He pulls out his phone and calls Arthur.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bug you, are you busy today?” He asks. Arthur must sense something in his voice, because the sound of a tv in the background is immediately silenced and he has Arthur’s full attention. 

“I’m not doing anything important. What’s going on?” Arthur asks. 

Dan can’t hold in a sigh as he starts to spill the whole sorry story, about Ned outing Conor in the assembly, about Conor coming to Dan for advice and all but accusing him or cowardice. How Conor has disappeared and no one seems to fucking care. His words are rushed and he’s probably leaving out important details but he can’t slow down, his mind racing too fast along with his breath. 

“Oh, love,” Arthur finally sighs when Dan pauses for air. Just those two words, full of understanding, like he’s absorbed all the terrible secrets Dan has just laid out in front of him, but he doesn’t shy away. Arthur has always been stronger than Dan. 

“What do you need?” he asks, and Dan could sob with relief just to have the offer, but he doesn’t _know_. He needs Conor to be alright. He needs to make up for all the people he’s let down. But right now the one thing that might help is having Arthur with him. He’s made one important decision, and it won’t make up for everything else, but it’s a start. 

“Could you meet me at the rugby match, at Mountford College?” he asks, and Arthur doesn’t even hesitate before he starts looking up the quickest train to get him there. Dan feels more relief than he can express. 

“I love you,” Dan says, and what he really means is _sorry for taking so long_ , but Arthur seems to understand. 

“I love you too,” he replies. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*****

Dan’s never been to a rugby game, so he’s not really sure what to expect. He looks around at the fans, how excited they are, how united. He thinks maybe it could be nice, if it included everyone.

Arthur is running behind, since he had to catch a later train. Dan feels on edge waiting for him, while watching the Woodhill team get handily trounced, if the groans of the fans are anything to go by. 

It isn’t until halftime that Arthur arrives, texting Dan because he can’t spot him among the throng. Dan comes to meet him and immediately grabs his hand. It’s the lifeline he’s been needing all day, all week, maybe. 

Arthur gives him a look of surprise, because it isn’t often that Dan will risk such a public show of affection. Dan just holds on tighter and Arthur smiles. 

They find their way back to their seats as the second half begins, and Dan almost sobs in relief when he sees Conor take the field. Two of his biggest concerns are suddenly lifted from his shoulders and he feels giddy with it, drunk with relief. It makes him feel bold. 

He continues to hold Arthur’s hand and guides him down towards the front of the stands. They sneak into the row behind Curly, having to crawl over a few students to get there. 

“Conor’s playing?” Dan leans over to ask, thought it’s fairly obvious. What he means to ask is _how_. 

“Yes, young Ned found him,” Curly replies, his voice containing a healthy dose of approbation. 

“Well he’s a good kid, Ned,” Dan says, because despite everything that’s happened, it’s true. 

What Ned did to Conor isn’t ok, but Dan doesn’t know the full story there. Maybe one terrible act shouldn’t outweigh everything else, though. He hopes so, for his own sake. Ned has gotten Conor here to the game, and that has to count for something. 

Dan leans in again, holds his breath for one painful minute before letting it out in a rush. 

“Walter, this is Arthur,” he introduces, and Curly reaches back to shake Arthur’s hand.“He’s me fella.” He forces a tone of levity, but his expression is challenging, daring Curly to react. “We’re a bit of an item,” he adds, just to be absolutely clear of his meaning. Curly looks at their linked hands, and it’s obvious he gets it. But all he does is smile at them both, like he actually means it. 

Amid Dan’s immediate feeling of relief is also a brief flash of regret -- not for what he’s done, but for the fact that he didn’t do it sooner. He’s been hiding who he is for months now (for years, really), and maybe he never needed to in the first place. Sure, there will always be arseholes like O'Keeffe, but there are also people like Curly, and Arthur’s family. Maybe it’s enough to have those people in your life. 

The game is close until the final minutes, and it’s a storybook ending; Conor makes the big kick and wins the game. His teammates and the crowd rush onto the field, but Dan takes Arthur’s hand and leads him out of the stadium. The celebration is for the students, and they have things they need to discuss, anyway. 

They leave the school grounds and stroll around the surrounding streets aimlessly. They run into the occasional gaggle of excited fans, but most are still celebrating on the field. 

“That took guts, I’m proud of you,” Arthur says and Dan can’t help but feel guilty. 

“It was long overdue,” he admits, but Arthur just squeezes his hand. 

“Better late than never.” They smile at each other and Dan can’t help but enjoy the feeling of their fingers entwined, out in the open. It’s freeing. 

“I was thinking…” Dan begins, pausing because maybe this is too much too soon, too many bold steps for a single day. But Arthur looks at him expectantly so he pushes on. “I was thinking that maybe at the end of this semester I would give up my room at the school.”

“Oh?” Arthur asks, but he’s already smiling. “And where would you go?”

“Well, you see, half of my record collection is already moved into your place. I think the other half feels lonely without it.” Even though Arthur is giving him receptive signals it still feels easier to couch this as a joke, just in case he has to take it back. 

“I see, so your records are moving in with me? That’s it?”

Dan takes a deep breath for the final terrifying leap of faith. 

“Well, I thought I might come with them. We’re kind of a package deal, my records and I.” 

“You know,” Arthur says, sobering a little, “I wondered if you’d ever be ready. I’m glad, really glad.”

“Really?” Dan can’t help but ask, because he knows he’s put Arthur through a lot these last few months. 

Arthur just shrugs. “I always want you around,” he says, and Dan can’t help it, has to lean in and kiss him. One of the passing fans gives them a approving whistle, but thankfully it’s no one Dan recognizes. He’s making strides here, but he’s not yet ready to snog his boyfriend in front of his students. 

They continue their rambling walk, making some tentative plans to have dinner with Arthur’s family soon. It’s a lot to take in for one day, but Dan’s making up for lost time. 

He’s not expecting it when they round a corner and come face to face with Conor and Ned, in the middle of a serious conversation. They both jump apart a little when they hear the sound of Dan and Arthur’s approaching footsteps, their faces caught in embarrassment. 

Dan pauses for a second, not sure what to do. It’s been a big day for the boys, and he doesn’t want to intrude on their privacy. But it also seems like a perfect time to clear the air a bit. 

Dan looks at Arthur, who is looking back at him with a look of open curiosity. It seems that he recognizes Conor from the game, and maybe also recognizes the mood between the boys, which they’ve just crashed. 

Before he can second-guess himself, Dan takes a step forward to make themselves clearly visible to Conor and Ned, his hand still firmly grasping Arthur’s. 

“Ned, Conor, good to see you both,” he says, thinking how very true that is. A few hours ago he wasn’t sure he’d see either of them again. “Quite a game,” he continues, watching Conor blush slightly at his praise. 

He barrels forward before he can chicken out, choosing to out himself for the second time this evening. 

“Boys, this is Arthur. Arthur is my boyfriend. Arthur, these are my students, Conor and Ned.” 

Arthur waves hello while Dan watches Conor and Ned’s faces. Conor isn’t surprised, obviously, he’s already seen Arthur, already knows they’re together. But he looks pleased to see them here, in public, pleased that no one is running away or lying to him. His grin in small but sincere. 

Ned, as usual, is more vocal. 

“Your boyfriend?! That’s so cool!” he raves, reaching out to shake Arthur’s hand. He immediately starts asking Arthur questions about how long they’ve been together and how they met. Arthur looks a little overwhelmed but handles it with good grace. Dan would say that Ned is taking this exceedingly well. 

Dan detaches himself from Arthur while he continues to field Ned’s interrogation and goes to stand next to Conor. 

“So, everything ok with you two?” he asks, gesturing with his head at Ned. Conor blushes a little, and nods. 

“And everything’s ok with the rugby team?” he pushes, though he’d just seen them all swarming Conor with hugs on the field. Conor nods again. 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking from Dan over to Ned and Arthur, and back. “Everything’s good, it’s...better.” 

His look is significant and Dan knows exactly what he means. Maybe you don’t have to wait until you grow up to be who you are. And maybe it’s never too late to start. 

“We should probably leave you two to your celebrating,” Dan says, with a friendly clap to Conor’s shoulder. He turns to his better half, who looks a little relieved to be called away. Ned is still flushed with questions, but takes the hint. 

“It was nice to meet you two,” Arthur says and shakes their hands before they turn away. Dan can hear some excited whispering (mostly Ned’s) as they round the corner, followed by a telling silence. 

He can’t help but grin at Arthur. It does get better.

*****

Curly forces Ned to enter the essay competition as penance for his actions at the cheer assembly. Ned truly makes the most of the lesson.

The essay he writes is full of humor and heart, self-derision and acceptance. Dan has never felt more proud of a student. He knew this talent was in Ned all along, he can’t even take any credit for bringing it out. 

It also helps to fill in a few pieces of the puzzle that Dan has always been missing: the cause of Ned and Conor’s fight after the semi-final game, how Ned convinced Conor to come back, how Conor laid himself bare in front of his teammates. Ned describes the locker room scene, how one by one the players had taken Conor’s side over the angry protests of O'Keeffe, and Dan has to laugh. 

“Son of a bitch. It was _Dead Poet’s Society_ after all,” he mumbles to himself. Arthur looks over with a raised eyebrow but Dan just waves him off. It’s a private joke. 

This is the second school event that Arthur has attended with Dan, after the rugby final, and it seems fitting. There are parts of this story where Dan isn’t proud of his own actions, but he wants Arthur to hear it all. 

They had gotten a bit of stink eye from O'Keeffe when they arrived, but Curly had come to shake their hands, telling Arthur he was delighted to see him again. Most of the rest of the faculty had fallen in line with his example. It certainly makes life easier to have the headmaster’s support.

Ned is wrapping up and Dan can’t help but feel proud. Not just of Ned, but of all his students. 

“That year everyone at school learned the same lesson,” Ned concludes: “not to speak in a borrowed voice.” 

Dan has to cover his face for a second, afraid of what it might show. It’s the lesson he set out to teach his class, and in the end it’s a lesson that Conor and Ned taught him as well. These fucking kids will be the death of him. Dan has to laugh just so he doesn’t cry. Arthur looks at him like maybe he knows what he’s feeling, a little. He also looks proud. 

Dan reaches over and takes his hand, not caring who might see.

**Author's Note:**

> holy faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack I can't believe it was that long. 
> 
> I told you. A. LOT. OF. FEELINGS.
> 
> Also: ARTHUR TOTALLY DESERVED SPEAKING LINES, HE WAS ROBBED. I have a lot of feelings about a character who was present for about 30 seconds of this movie. 
> 
> Thanks you so much for reading, if you made it this far!


End file.
